


Firsts

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Marine years, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A two-shot depicting Bass' and Miles' first times during the Marine Years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote these a while ago and decided it was cruel to withhold joyous Miloe penetration! Bear in mind that in chapter 1, the boys are around 21 yrs old and in chapter 2 around 24. They are youthful, giddy, and still figuring themselves out. ;) Chapter 2 is significantly darker.

_2003, Parris Island, South Carolina_

_Bass_

Miles has been really quiet lately - I mean, quiet _er_. I’m probably the only person who would notice. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s up without asking, because asking will only make him shut down further. Maybe he’s just focused. We’ve both been working hard at the gym to come back from our wounds. Though it’s weird to think that there’s a metal rod in my left arm, I’m probably lifting at around 85 percent on it at this point. Miles’ knee injury was less severe but harder to keep weight off, so I’d say he’s just now approaching near-normal too.

This morning we’d finally been handed a twenty-four hour pass, and when I asked him what he wanted to do, I was surprised to hear him say: “Got something planned for us.”

“For…” I couldn’t quite bring myself to repeat what I instantly decided was my favorite one-syllable word in the world: _us_. “You planned something?” I tried instead, unabashedly pleased. After a moment, I even remembered to shut my gaping mouth.

He nodded, and his bottomless dark eyes said, _Trust me_ , and I did. Adventures with Miles are the best.

So here were are in his Challenger, my eyes trailing over the sparkling Atlantic, the wind through the open windows mussing my curls. Once in a while the elegant veins of Miles’ large hand on the gear shift will catch my eye, tempting me to touch, but I’m a little wary of breaking our spell. Since coming back from Iraq, I wouldn’t mind keeping a hand on him at all times, but Miles doesn’t respond well to pushing. I do hazard a glance at his close-cropped, rich-brown hair, slightly tousled by the breeze. Gorgeous.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going, huh?” I check without caring. It’s more an excuse to stare at him. Miles doesn’t much like surprises, but I do - when they’re happy, at least.

Miles shakes his head as a small grin plays at his lips, but I detect nervous tension in his shoulders that intrigues me. When we pull up at the Hampton Inn in Bluffton an enormous smile splits my face that must reveal all my teeth and both dimples.

With his hand still on the gear shift he turns to me, blackish eyes alight, and finally explains: “I want you. And I don’t want it to be rushed.” As he draws his pinky over the back of the hand resting on my thigh, chills of pleasure filter down my spine.

“Romantic fool,” I laugh (or if I’m honest, giggle). “It’s like prom! Except without the chicks to get in our way.”

Miles scowls a little and sniffs, but I can tell he’s pleased. He starts to pull out the keys from the ignition when I stop his hand, because I need to be sure.

“Just to be clear, we are talking about your dick in my ass, right?” He turns such a deep shade of red I nearly snort.

He nods and looks up at me from under dark eyebrows. “You want it?” he asks.

I’m trying to sound casual but my heart is thudding. “Thought you’d never ask.” I flash my teeth in reassurance.

“Let me get our room key. You wait here.”

I raise my eyebrow at that - always having to be his secret - but don’t argue. I watch him spring off to reception - he’s so damn happy - and gaze at the sandy-colored motel of my ass-deflowering. It might not seem very romantic, but Miles has done all this for me. He’s clearly been planning it for a while. I know this is big for him; it’s big for us.

By the time we get through the door of our room - a hideous emerald green with paisley decor - I am downright giddy. I mean, _everything_ is making me (and there is no other word for it) giggle. Goddamn. I might be the gayest Marine who ever lived. Miles tosses the key card and a small, paper bag aside and puts his hands on his hips to observe me.

“ _What_ is so funny?” he asks critically but can’t hide the smile that is claiming his lips.

I bury my face in my hands and really start to laugh. When I look back up, I can see all of Miles’ white teeth - a rarity. He shrugs another _what?_ and leans a hand casually back on a chair. He always looks so effortlessly cool.

I shake my head. “I don’t know! You brought me to a Hampton Inn to take my ass virginity, and it’s just-” another wave of laughter grips me. But this time when I look at him he’s frowning and hurt. I instantly feel bad. “No, Miles, I didn’t-” I walk over to him and put my arms around the hard muscles of his biceps, but his brown eyes remain trained on the floor. I tilt up his chin so he can’t avoid me. “I’m not laughing at you or _this_. I’m… happy! I’m fucking gleeful! You know, some people laugh when they feel happy.”

He grumbles something, but I don’t listen since I’m sucking on his bottom lip and then forcing my tongue into his mouth, where it’s all hot whiskey: my favorite taste. That seems to do the trick, because soon we’re both exploring each other’s mouths familiarly, urgently, hands roaming over each other’s backs and asses. I admit to myself then that I might have been laughing because I’m a little nervous. I wonder if Miles can tell when his lips wander down to my fluttering pulse point and suck there briefly.

The comforting thing about Miles is when he commits to something, he really commits. He breaks away to rummage through the paper bag and reemerges with a bottle of lube in one hand and some condoms in the other.

I smile and sit on the edge of the bed to take off my shoes. “You’ve really thought this through,” I approve and get distracted imagining Miles at a drugstore on a mission. I feel warm and taken care of.

Miles kicks off his shoes and socks while standing up. “Wasn’t sure about the condoms, but…” he shrugs, giantly tall in this tiny room.

I wave them off as unnecessary. I want to feel everything about this, Miles’ silky, insanely hard cock pushed up inside me. I’ve fantasized about it for so long. Now it’s finally happening to me.

When I start dragging off my shirt, he sets down the accoutrements to keep pace, unveiling dark fur over lean, chiseled muscles. Damn. So much better when I know I’m going to be able to put my hands all over that lovely expanse. Gazing at him in the barracks’ showers is murder, especially his cock, which even flaccid is mouth-watering - always a bit flushed like it’s been roughed up recently (and knowing Miles, it probably has been).

“Bass?” he asks as I start working on my fly. He strides over to push my hands out of the way, grasping a bit desperately for my zipper. I thread my arms between his to open his pants.

“Hm?” My fingers graze the erection beneath his boxer shorts. I sometimes wonder if Miles is perpetually hard when we’re near one another. The thought makes me hard.

“You done this before?” he asks.

I pause and meet his serious, chocolatey eyes, a sudden wave of insecurity washing over me. It’s a totally unnecessary question considering we know everything about each other. Now I have to check too: “No. You?”

He shakes his head, and I exhale a pent-up breath.

“You… um… need to do anything to prepare?” he asks, running his oversized thumb across my hipbone.

I chuckle dryly. “Nah. I took a really thorough shit this morning. But thanks for asking, man.”

Miles pouts, as we try to pull down each other’s pants simultaneously before adjusting our maneuver to one at a time. Well, it _was_ a thoughtful question given what we’re about to do. It sort of makes me wonder if Miles actually did a little research on this despite how much he hates to read. God, he’s adorable.

We wrench down all the covers to the edge of the bed and sprawl out, taking it real slow. Miles is a magnificent creature naked, all long, lean muscles and soft, dark hair. Every now and then his pale skin is punctuated by a little constellation of freckles or a puckered scar: _perfections_. I know each and claim each with my lips, while he runs his hands over the ridges and valleys of my muscles (scrupulously avoiding my straining boner), massaging me with just the right amount of pressure before tasting the dip in my neck, my nipples, my earlobes. It’s been a while since we’ve been naked together, and we’re both a little mesmerized, I suppose. I let whatever sounds of need I’ve been trapping tumble out, and I can tell he likes hearing it.

At one point I guess I lie there too long just holding and staring at his beautiful cock, because he clears his throat and says, “You can touch it a little harder, babe.”

I chuckle, “Sorry,” and dig in, tracing his bulging veins and relishing the clear droplet at the tip: unequivocal confirmation that he wants me. I squeeze him way harder than I’d ever want, but his grunt of pleasure and his little throb of appreciation is just so Miles.

“Ready?” his voice sounds rough, and fuck, it gets me somewhere deep. I’m dripping too despite his utter neglect of my cock. When I nod he hands me a pillow to tuck under my butt, angling me upward. Sweat dribbles down my temple, and I have to fight against the urge to tense up at the thought of him inside me at last.

Miles finally turns his attention to my dick, and Jesus, it’s like the sun on your cold skin when you’re fresh out of the lake: delicious, attentive warmth. At first he kisses only at the tip, licking downward before sucking me all the way in, cheeks hollowing out. He looks so focused and lovely when he’s going down on me - the dark of his hair and eyebrows contrasting with the pink of his lips. He works me up, hot and absurdly wet, and I just give into it. Miles has a plan. He’s taking care of me. And I completely trust him.

Eventually, he slides off and skates his tongue down to my balls, sucking in one and then the other; I feel him smile around the second at my throaty moan. He meanders to the tender flesh on the way to my entrance - pulsing pressure against something achy. He’s never tongued me there before, and I seize up a little with anticipation.

He pauses at the shift, “Okay?” and spreads a hand over my taut stomach – warm, comforting.

I doubt I can form coherent words anymore, so I just nod and shut my eyes, reaching down blindly to interlock with his fingers. As his tongue gently traces my opening, a million little nerve endings I never knew I had come to life. Miles is a confident lover; nothing seems to put him off. When he breeches me with the tip of his tongue, I gasp and he squeezes my fingers.

I let go of his hand to finger my dick lazily, trying to stay relaxed. Next to his tongue below he hooks in a finger. I will myself not to wince. It’s not the first time his large, rough fingers have been inside me, but previously they hadn’t been working toward something enormous. The second finger burns despite all the lube he’s drenched himself in. Still, he’s extraordinarily patient with me, easing his way in a millimeter at a time and then waiting, finger fucking me gently. God, it’s satisfying. He slides his free, well-slicked hand up to help work my cock, our fingers alternately caressing each other and the velvety skin beneath.

“Can I try?” he finally asks. It’s clear to me then that this has been taking enormous self-restraint. I’ve never heard him so ragged with need.

“Yeah.”

“On your stomach?”

I roll over, my hardness pressing into the pillow beneath my hips, my face turned to the side. He prods me then with the blunt, wet tip of what feels way too big to ever fit into that tiny hole. But I’m not afraid; I’m eager. Miles is never too much for me, even though, Christ, he’s a large man, and he’s kind of aggressive with his cock without meaning to be. He’s passionate, he wants, and he’ll just reach a point where he can’t control himself anymore. I love all of this about him. I want every bit of that inside me.

“Uhh, Bass,” Miles moans as he leans against me with his cock. “Wanna be inside you so bad.” A trickle of his need slides down my skin onto the sheet below.

It feels so good to be wanted like this. I mean, maybe I did need a little reassurance that he finds me desirable there. This _is_ my asshole we’re talking about, though damned if Miles didn’t make it seem utterly delicious the way he was recently exploring it with his tongue.

He thrusts inward with incredible pressure and starts to penetrate me at last. It’s not easy to take. “Uh, Miles just… hold on.” I will myself to relax. I want this terribly. My cock is pulsing against cotton and my entrance is locked down. Finally, I find a way to ease up, and he slips in a little more.

He gasps behind me, and I crack open an eye to look back at him, long dick plunging inward, his lovely face all pinched in rapture. “Takin’ everything I have not to come right here,” he grunts and curses. His fists are clenched with self-imposed restraint.

“Well pull yourself together,” I rasp. “Want you to come inside me.”

He skates a hand over my ass and squeezes. “Uh, you’re so goddamn tight. Feels… _so_ _good_.” He emphasizes each word like he’s a poet who’s just produced his crowning couplet.

Opening up for Miles is deeply satisfying. It aches and burns, but somehow – and I can’t explain _how_ – it’s the most amazing feeling in the world. Before I realize it, Miles is buried all the way in me and resting. He announces triumphantly, “I’m inside!”

I chuckle and moan at the same time because damn, he is _huge_. I can’t think about anything but accommodating his massive cock. I cringe a little at the thought of him actually moving inside me.

“Uhhh, Bass, I’m - _shit!_ \- I’m gonna come.”

It’s weird and interesting and very sexy to have him come inside of me, writhing a little. It feels like having a delicious and extremely wet cramp. Yeah, I know that doesn’t sound great. But it really fucking is. Especially when the man you love sinks down onto you and moans your name against your back, drooling a little, like you are the best thing that ever happened to him.

Miles collapses all the way with a “Fuck that was hot,” and draws himself out very slowly and carefully. “Roll over, babe.” I suddenly feel so weak, he basically has to do it for me - giant, careful hands on my hips.

When we’ve got me on my back, he pushes all the way in again (it goes much more easily on all his seed) and dumps lube over my cock to stroke me with incredible indulgence. He’s still hard enough that the dull, thudding pressure at my core brings me over my edge in seconds. I feel so twisted up that when I start spasming I inadvertently kick Miles in the shin and he _ows_ and, at some point, slips out of me, my come splashing over his hand. Miles squeezes me through my high and then gently lays my spent cock on my thigh, kissing it before joining me at the head of the bed.

Suddenly I’m enveloped in his endless arms, the whiskey-sweat of him powerfully masculine and sexy. I bury my face in his neck, wet hair suctioned to his chin, just wanting to lose myself. _Miles was inside me_. I am overwhelmed by the idea, the vacant thudding in my insides. Cliché as it sounds, this was supreme intimacy, and I just need to cling to him a little and to the memory.

He kisses my forehead and strokes my dripping curls, arms still bound around me. Finally, he pulls back to create enough space to search my eyes with his usual intensity. “You okay?” he asks with extreme directness that might put off other people but never me.

“Yeah.”

“Was it good? Did I hurt you?”

I collapse cheek on his cheek and close my eyes. He’s scratchy and whiskey and my brain is a puddle. “ _So_ good. As soon as you can get it back up, I want it again.”

Miles moans against my mouth and snatches my hand, pressing it down below against soft skin, wiry hair, and wetness. He’s already stirring again.

“I never want to leave this fucking hotel room,” he complains, kissing at me and contacting my nose.

“You’ll get hungry eventually,” I laugh.

“Wanna do this forever.”

“Fine by me.”

We sleep a little, lips pressed right up against each other, arms and legs hopelessly entangled. When we wake up in the evening, Miles takes me again, this time between my thighs, forehead to forehead, my cock compressed by the warm fur and straining muscles of his stomach. He makes love to me until I’m raw inside, exhausted, and completely emptied of anything but love for him.

Yeah, I know how sappy I sound, how sappy I feel. But Miles and I, we’ve been through a little bit of hell in Iraq that is simply our day job. We survived, if a little worse for the wear. So we gave ourselves this gift, and we waited a long-ass time for it. I don’t give a fuck what the rest of the world thinks of us.


	2. Chapter 2

_2006, Sound Bend, Indiana_

_Miles_

I’m on the shabby, gray sofa next to Bass, our feet propped up on the coffee table side by side. Bass’ toes are damn fine, and after a while, I realize I’m staring at them instead of the TV. I guess he notices because he kicks me with one and almost knocks my beer off its coaster.

“Cocksucker,” I grumble, snatching it to take a swallow - bitter and carbonated.

“Is that a request?” Bass wheels around to shove a foot against the side of my face, inviting a wrestling match he seems perfectly content to lose.

I get him easily pinned cheek to fabric, our limbs hopelessly tangled. Basically all the blood in my body has plunged southward. It never takes much with him. So I rub my hard on against him a little, enjoying the friction of my jeans, while he chuckles at me.

“Horn dog,” he observes rather than critiques. At the very least, he’s used to me humping his leg. He puts a hand against my over-excited crotch and pushes me back, pleasant pressure only making it throb. “Foot’s falling asleep,” he explains.

I grab for my beer and kick up my legs again, as he rubs his numb foot and then repositions with his cheek to my lap, his long legs sprawled over the arm of the sofa. He kisses the bulge in my pants, as I thread my fingers into his satisfying curls and scrape callouses against his scalp.

“We can give up on this shit ball game and just go to bed if you want,” he offers with a frown at the perpetually losing Cubs in dead last place in the NL.

I _do_ want that: to go to bed. And for a while now I’ve been thinking about exactly what I want when we get there. Shit, I’ve been thinking about it for years, maybe ever since I hit puberty and starting wanting Bass as more than just a friend.

I’m not a coward in combat; I’ve proven that to myself on our last tour. But I am a little bit of a coward when it comes to what I want with Bass. I wish I weren’t.

Bass probably feels the strain in my body of me thinking, because he lightly taps my crotch and asks, “You thinking up there, bud? Don’t hurt yourself.”

I grumble a little even though he says some variation of that _every_ time I think. We’re such old friends we know exactly how to annoy each other. So why can’t I figure out how to ask him this?

“Seriously, Miles. You’re waging some inner battle, and I’m worried you’re going to short circuit and herniate a disc. What’s up?”

Bass has pushed himself up to scrutinize me, and I don’t really feel like making eye contact. Instead I stand and offer him a hand, which looks grotesquely large to me. “Bed,” is all I manage.

To Bass’ credit, he takes my hand and follows me to our bedroom, clicking the TV off as he passes it. As soon as we cross the threshold I start stripping like a cheap hooker. It’s really not until we’re naked under the sheets, Bass rolled on top of me kissing right below my earlobe in this way that makes me crazy, that I simply lose my senses and blurt, “I want you inside me.” It’s utterly mortifying.

Bass stops cold and pulls back to look at me. “What did you say?”

I mean, I did kind of mumble it at a thousand miles per hour, but somehow I convince myself that Bass is actually rejecting me. That he thinks I’m disgusting and would never want me that way. I’m scrambling to push him off, but Bass is fucking strong when he wants to be and resists.

“Miles! Stop flailing like a fucking child. The hell is wrong with you?” Bass pins me with all his weight, his hands pressing down my arms.

Fuck, this is insane but I feel like crying. What the hell _is_ wrong with me?

“Did you say you want me in you?” he tries reasonably, even though I’ve closed my eyes, as if not seeing him will make this humiliation go away.

Since I’m giving him no help, Bass rolls off to the side. I guess he’s still staring at me, but in order to find out I actually have to will myself: _Do not cry_. I’m the world’s biggest pussy. I do finally look at him.

“Yeah, but we don’t have to.” I sound all curt and assholey, and fuck, I’m so mad at myself for ruining this in every possible way.

His clear blue eyes look pensive and unfocused for a moment before locking onto mine. We’re facing each other on the pillow, not quite touching, until finally Bass rests a hand over the uneven skin of my right-arm tattoo.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted that.”

“Like I said, we don’t have to. It doesn’t matter. Just a… a passing idea.”

He pulls back the warmth of his hand, and I feel a little alone. “You’re lying.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. You’re lying about something, because you’re doing that twitchy eye thing. And I don’t see why. Aren’t we… shit, man, didn’t we agree we’d give this everything we’ve got?” He indicates us with his hand.

Well fuck. Here’s the problem with me and Bass: we know each other too goddamn well. “I do not do a twitchy eye thing!” Christ, I need to work on my tell. And he’s right. I’m being a giant ass to him and me both right now. I lick my lips. “All right. I really _want_ to do this. I’ve wanted it since… forever, I think. Now please fuck me in the ass, and don’t make me ask again.” My cheeks are burning even though I sound snippy.

“Oh, Miles,” Bass groans into a hand he’s flopped over his face. “I kind of hate you for depriving us of this for so long, but you’re also so fucking adorable right now, I can’t really be mad.” He lowers his hand to regard me. “I would be thrilled to take your butt virginity. Are you sure you want it tonight though? I mean… it takes a little getting used to.”

Without thinking, I ask, “It hurts?” I know this isn’t the healthiest thing about me, but I enjoy a little pleasure-pain so that idea actually turns me on… as in, it only makes me want it more. And harder.

“I won’t hurt you,” Bass reassures with real tenderness, placing his hand back on my arm, warmth spreading everywhere. And even though I kind of want him to aggressively ravage me, I still find his words comforting.

So we’re going to do this.

Poor Bass, I’m so damn impatient for his cock in me that whatever he tries - his tongue, his fingers - I sort of get frustrated with and tell him to get on with it.

Currently, he’s in between my legs on his knees, one long, elegant finger jammed inside me, probing. It’s insanely over-stimulating, and I’m not even sure I like it, I’m so nervous. I’m sweating buckets into our sheets.

“Hun, you’ve got to ease up or we’re going to have to try again another night. I refuse to tear you. It’s out of the question.” With that Bass slides back out his finger and joins me on my pillow. He smiles and kisses my chin. “Look at you with your cute little chin dimple, lying in a puddle of your own sweat.” He kisses my lips, too, as I huff a little. “I really want to put my cock in you, but you suck at relaxing.”

“You suck at making me relax!” I accuse dramatically, knowing full-well it’s not him.

“Mmhm. I think we both know who the uptight one is in this duo.”

“Bass, just stick it in before I kill you.”

Bass rolls his eyes. “Fine, turn over.”

I do (grumpily). Bass dumps what feels like an entire bottle of lube over my ass, and I gaze over my shoulder to watch him slick up his magnificent cock. I mean, this is the world’s most perfect cock. I groan and tell my body: _Listen you asshole, relax_. _Your reward is Perfect Cock._

You’d think that would be enough, but apparently I’m still impossibly clenched because Bass is crouched over my ass, holding open my cheeks, and staring at my pucker with evident dismay.

“Jesus, Miles. When you took my ass virginity it was so fucking romantic. You’re killing me here. It’s impossible to be romantic with you. You _will_ tell me if I genuinely hurt you, right?” he stresses.

I nod.

“Okay. Just lie still and think of the empire.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind,” he mumbles and suddenly his bluntness is pressed against me.

I scoot backward so that the pressure increases and my entrance flares a little.

“Take a deep breath and let it out,” Bass instructs.

I obey him and as my lungs evacuate, he begins sliding in. It burns incredibly, but when I think about how much I want Bass inside me, my body lets it happen. The friction is more than I’ve ever imagined as Bass slides up and down my passage in long, carefully strokes. It genuinely feels like a hot poker in the ass, and I start shivering like I’ve received a second-degree burn. The weirdest part is, I swear this is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know why or what that even means. But Bass and his hot poker cock is my entire world right now, and I’m shaking like a leaf, and I’m fucking happy. For once I’m happy. This is an extremely rare state for me.

I realize that I’ve forgotten my own dick ages ago and that’s kind of nice too, the idea of just receiving, of being fucked and not having to do anything but feel my nerves fire one by one. Then it hits me because of the way Bass is moaning and kneading my ass with great feeling: Bass is about to come inside of me. I’ve already embarrassed myself a thousand times tonight, and I go right ahead and do it again by absolutely moaning his name at the thought.

“Yeah, Miles. Yeah,” Bass answers.

His cock clenches tight against my smooth muscles, and he gives into involuntary thrusting, while I give into wanton moaning. I hear myself, and I don’t like the way I sound - needy, out of control. It freaks me out completely. He must feel the change in me, because he tries to draw out as carefully as he can while I’m writhing around, panicking like some kind of beached porpoise.

I can’t see it, of course, the way I gape, I just feel it - how his seed dribbles out of what feels like an enormous hole, open for the world to see inside of me. Oh God. I’m really and truly hideous. What if some of my shit got on Bass?

I’m not even sure exactly what happens next, because I’m trying so hard not to cry. I pull away. Bass tries to comfort me, but I literally push him. I push him hard enough that he coughs like the wind has been knocked out of him.

“The hell, man? What…?” Bass chokes out, terribly hurt. Of course he is. He was being sweet and loving with me and I just tossed him aside like he’s nothing…. when he’s everything.

Fuck, fuck. I hate myself so much. “Just leave it, Bass. Go to sleep.”

His voice sounds a little thick and shaky when he tries once more, “Come on, Miles. Don’t do that. Let’s just talk.”

“Fuck off!” I snap and throw my pillow over my head. For a terrible hour I pick at the scabs on my body just to make myself bleed. I let scalding tears spill over and burn my cheeks. I ask myself a million times why I exist when all I do is hurt the people I love?

I don’t sleep much at all, and I at least try to keep my limbs away from Bass so I don’t impale him with an elbow. He complains that I turn all knives when I toss and turn. Besides Bass is curled on the edge of the bed, facing away from me because I drove him away.

When I wake up for the millionth time, still sick to my stomach, pale light is edging its way between the gap in the blinds and window sill. My chest is so tight and I just feel so awful that I can’t take it anymore. I roll over to Bass and put my arms around him, pulling him backward. I bury my face in the spicy scent of his neck and hold onto his muscled belly. I cling.

Slowly I feel him extend his arms and legs within my grasp and groan and mumble as he wakes up. I’m breathing right into his ear when he tries to look at me under an arched blonde eyebrow.

“Whaffimesit?”

“Early.”

“Jerk face,” Bass complains and tries to extract himself so he can bury himself back in his pillow, but I don’t let him. He gives in pretty fast, because Bass loves to be close. He flips over and nuzzles into my chest, his arms snaking around my middle. Maybe he’s too tired to remember what an ass I was to him last night?

“You’re an asshat, Miles,” he mumbles against me, a little trickle of drool sliding down my pec.

I bury my nose in his curls and exhale long and exhaustively. “I know.” He smells a little lemony and I suddenly have to choke back a ball of emotion in my throat. “Sorry.”

“S’ok.” Bass nuzzles deeper into my armpit and is probably just trying to go back to sleep. Being the eternal dick I am, I won’t let him.

“No, I’m really sorry. I… wanted that so badly, and I fucked it up. I made you feel like shit. And I feel like shit…” I’m babbling, and the million apologizes I came up with over the course of the night have dematerialized. So I just end up giving this stupid, general apology that probably sounds meaningless to him.

Bass lifts up his face from my chest and rests on the pillow beside me. God, his blue eyes are spectacular in the morning. He slides his fingers through my chest hair and leaves his hand over my pec. Instinctively, I reach up to interlock fingers with his and he looks at our hands with a sort of private smile.

“It’s okay, Miles.”

“It’s not.”

“I forgive you.”

“I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.”

“Miles.” Bass pulls his hand away to rub his forehead like I’m giving him a headache. “Stop this - this sabotage. I won’t let you push me away.”

I _don’t_ want to push Bass away, but I’m so fucked up. I don’t want to infect him with it.

“You can talk to me. I love you just the way you are, you know? All fucked up and… even when you kick my ass right after I make love to you. I love you then. I love you now even though you woke me up at this ungodly hour, and really, I’m pissed as hell at you. So just stop with this bullshit.”

A wave of gratefulness and irritation washes over me. How can I explain something even I don’t understand? Bass deserves something though. He’s actually being a fucking saint. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know what freaked me out so much. There’s this ugliness inside me, you know?”

“No. There isn’t. You’re wrong.” He says it fiercely like he’s mad at the part of me that insists on hating me.

I shake my head. “I just wish… I wish I weren’t stuck being me. I don’t know why you’d even want to…” Fuck. What if in all this equivocating, he thinks I didn’t like it, that I won’t want it again? “Bass, did… did you like it?”

“Is that a serious question?” Bass’ mouth falls open at the sudden turn, but before I can look wounded, he follows up, “Yes. Jesus, Miles. _Yes_. Of course, I loved it.” He pulls my hand to his cheek and sort of lays his face there.

“It wasn’t… gross?”

Bass looks a little exasperated but he answers, “Gross? Baby… Jesus Christ. You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen or felt. There is absolutely nothing you could do that would make me not want you.”

I swallow. It’s intense to hear, because I know it’s true. Bass loves me just like that. Whether I deserve it or not is not the question.

He pulls my palm against his lips and asks, “Do you want it again right now?”

I nod gratefully.

“Are you okay? You sore?”

I shake my head and turn on my side with my back to him. He scoots into me and kisses my shoulder blade. He must reach for the lube, because as he caresses my back and neck with his lips, he slides wet fingers between my cheeks. Then he must slick himself because he does this amazing thing where he massages my entrance with the head of his cock.

I give up caring about everything but letting him inside. He’s got one hand around himself coaxing me open with insane silky circles, and his other hand slides around my hips to take hold of me with wet, graceful fingers. I didn’t even let him touch my cock last night. What the hell was I thinking? But before I can worry about it all over again, he pushes inward, stroking me luxuriantly like only Bass does.

“Uhhh, Bass,” I moan, shifting my face so I can look at him over my shoulder. He buries himself completely in me, his cock stretching me open. His blue eyes are open, intense, and I see how much he wants me. Every finely sculpted muscle of his body is pressed into my back, as he stirs deeply into my core and runs his fingers over the veins of my cock to my tip.

I barely rasp out, “Coming!” my muscles clenching on him, the tip of his cock pressed against something so achy and good, I lose time and ride the waves of my own moaning. I shiver in his fingers and Bass has his lips pressed up against my neck like he’s drinking in the sounds of me. I’m going to have to get used to that part - the sounds I can’t help when Bass makes love to me.

As soon as my muscles release the smallest fraction Bass starts coming too, _Uhhing_ against my neck, sliding his seed-wet hand up my belly. The way he kneads into me so desperately, I’ve just never felt so wanted.

Bass pants, “You okay, Miles?” When he’s barely done spasming, he’s already checking on me, and I’m just overwhelmed by the need to kiss him, hold him, be held. I try to roll over in my desperation to get at his lips.

“Uhh, wait!” Bass pushes me back a little to pull out, and then he pulls me in as I’m turning to face him, burying my fingers in his hair and smothering him with my lips. We kiss desperately, our tongues in each other’s mouths, and me sort of rocking gently into him like I’m some kind of lunatic. I guess… well I guess I’m just in love.


End file.
